Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head
by MoreExperienceWithBanshees
Summary: "I feel like I can do this but I don't know what to do. It's - it's like it's on the tip of my tongue and I don't know how to trigger it. I swear to god, it literally makes me want to scream." Galvanize, Lydia's Point of View
1. Part One

A/N: Lydia's POV from Galvanize because she is wonderful and fabulous in that episode and I was so proud of her.

I tried to keep this as in-character as I could, which was hard because Lydia is so hard to pin-down. She's so confident and yet so unsure of herself at the same time. It's sort of fascinating.

There were some definite continuity issues in Galvanize so I tried to explain those away as best as I could. Hopefully this will read relatively smoothly!

I have the majority of part 2 written, it's just nearly 3 a.m., I have to transcribe it from a notebook to my computer and I wanted these parts to be equal, so this is all your getting for now. Next part should be up either tomorrow or the day after.

Some hints of romantic Aydia and Stydia, but nothing outside the realm of canon.

* * *

Get Along With The Voices Inside Of My Head

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf or Eminem's "Monster" (title comes from the lyrics to that song. I thought it was fitting, for several reasons).

* * *

There's a buzzing noise in my ears when I wake up.

I lay in bed for a few moments longer than necessary to try and determine the source. For a while I think it's from my alarm clock until I press snooze and the buzzing lingers. With a groan, I bury my head under my pillow.

Why was I even up this early? Somewhere within my sleep-muddled brain, I remember my plan to curl my hair this morning before school. But that sounds like a deeply unappealing prospect at the moment, so I sink back to sleep.

When I wake up again, the buzzing is gone and long-forgotten.

* * *

I end up just brushing my hair and pulling the front sections back into a braided half-crown. It looks good - not as good as the curls, obviously, but still an acceptable hairstyle for me to step out of the house in. And 'acceptable' is all I really need to aim for these days, since Aiden hasn't so much as texted me back in nearly two weeks.

I'll let that sink in for a second. Two weeks.

That means two weeks of total celibacy, which is the longest I've gone since Jackson and I broke up for good. And that's not a good thing. It's certainly not doing anything for my mood.

"Good morning sweetheart," Mom greets at the breakfast table. I shoot her a withering look. It is not a good morning. A good morning would have included shoving a hot, half-naked boy out my window before she woke.

I grab a yogurt from the fridge, pointedly ignoring the hideously disgusting kale smoothie she's set aside for me. Every time Mom goes on a diet she attempts to force me to join her. It never works. The exercise regime Allison's been putting me through is more than enough to keep me in top shape, thank you very much. Plus, crash-dieting is not good for you. As an intelligent woman, my mother should know better.

"So, tomorrow's Halloween," Mom pressed, clearly determined to extract some form of conversation from me. "Got any plans?"

I roll my eyes. "Of _course_." Just because I temporarily went crazy and walked naked through the woods for two days last year doesn't mean I'm a _total _social pariah. Danny, at the very least, did not abandon me like the rest of my so-called-friends. Well, former friends. I have much better ones now.

Mom waits for me to elaborate. I continue eating my yogurt. Finally, she sighs, giving up. "Don't the kids play pranks at school today? That should be fun."

A groan nearly escapes my lips. Oh right. _Mischief Night. _The totally juvenile holiday my peers created in order to make sure absolutely nothing gets done the day before Halloween. I've managed to successfully stay out of the madness the past two years, which have included fake cockroaches slipped in students' food, "kick me" signs slapped onto unsuspecting freshmen's backs, and someone rigging a bucket of water to dump on Coach as soon as he enter his office (Coach always gets the worst of it because Mischief Night is his birthday).

This year, however, I'm pretty sure I'm friends with the idiots who actually rigged the ice bucket, so I doubt I'll be quite as successful at avoiding all the shenanigans. If Stiles and Scott have any survival instincts at all, they won't attempt to involve me in any pranks or - even more suicidally - play any pranks on _me_.

"I don't usually involve myself." I reply loftily.

Mom nods. "I know, but I'm sure it's fun to watch. I bet Stiles loves Mischief Night, doesn't he?" She sounds considerably amused. For some reason, Stiles is Mom's favorite out of my friends, even more than Danny. Probably because she finds him comical.

"I would assume so." I say, because it's not actually a conversation we've had. My lack of interest in Mischief Night is rather potent, apparently, as none of my friends have talked about it with me. Hopefully I can keep it that way. I finish my yogurt and kiss Mom on the head, subtly letting her know that I'm just in a bad mood in general and I don't actually hate her. It's not the kind of gesture I would have bestowed upon her before: after witnessing my closest friends nearly lose their own parents and seeing how scared and devastated they'd been, I'd come to appreciate my own more, flawed and divorced as they are.

As I step outside and jangle through my keyring to locate my car fob, something buzzes near my ear. I swat at it and it goes away.

* * *

The new English teacher who replaced our previous, human-sacrificing English teacher has the world's dreariest voice. I check my phone surreptitiously under the desk. Nothing.

Allison is gazing out the window, looking very much like she would like nothing more than to leap out of it and go running through the woods, skirt be damned. I watch as she sighs out a weary huff of air, blowing some of her side-bangs away from her face. Behind her, Scott is making a valiant effort to keep blinking his eyes open, chin resting on his open palm. He looks as though he had about two hours of sleep and I make a mental note to stay away from Coach's office if the prank took that long to set up. In contrast, Stiles is a ball of frenetic energy sitting next to Scott, alternating between trying to make his pen twirl between his knuckles and balancing it on his nose. I'm willing to bet he took an extra dose of Adderall this morning to combat sleep deprivation and shake my head at the stupidity.

Ah, the A-team. And together, we fight crime.

The bell mercifully rings without anyone falling asleep or poking themselves in the eye with a pen. I wrap my arm around Allison's as we exit, waiting for Scott to be out of even werewolf earshot before whispering, "Any late night visitors yesterday?"

"Well, somehow a raccoon got caught in our building's ventilation system." Allison deadpans. "So that was something."

I scowl. "You know what I mean. Any supernaturally gorgeous, male, statue-of-David-resembling late night visitors who like to sneak through your window?"

Allison bites back a smile. "No. And there shouldn't be. I electrified the windows."

My brows furrow. "You know, I think that might just be taking the 'hard to get' thing too far," I drawl as I swap my books out in my locker. "Or are you just trying to encourage him to use the elevator?"

"Neither." We walk toward her locker, pinkies brushing against each other. Allison and I aren't particularly touchy-feely people, but we have basically zero boundaries with each other at this point. "I can't date another werewolf: my dad would kill me. Besides, he and Scott are too good of friends. It would be weird."

"You and your love drama." My eyes flicker unconsciously toward my phone.

Allison tracks my gaze, raises her eyebrows and asks lightly, "Still nothing from Aiden?"

"Aiden," I reply airily, "is about two days away from me dropping him completely in favor of a newer model." Across the hall I spy Eric Barden, the star hitter for the baseball team. He catches my gaze and grins as I cock my head coyly, sending him a nonverbal message of _Yes, I am staring at you. You caught me. What are you going to do now?_

The slamming of a locker door rings my attention back to Allison. "Seriously Lydia? You're really going to go down the dumb jock route again?"

That's rich of her, considering how Scott nearly failed three classes last year and Isaac once asked me how to differentiate between square root and long division signs. "What other route _is _there?"

A slow smile stretches across Allison's face and I immediately regret the question. "Oh, I don't _know," _she says casually as we head toward her trigonometry class. Unfortunately it's rich next to my Econ classroom so I can't run away from this conversation. "Isn't there anybody in your life who you just feel this strong pull toward, who you've thrown yourself - literally - into a fire for…and with whom you've shared a confusing kiss recently?"

It's official. I'm revoking Allison's best friend status. I just have to shred the paperwork when I get home. "Please," I scoff, flicking my hair over my shoulder in an extravagant gesture that says _I am Lydia Martin, Queen of everything, _bow _before me. _Allison just blinks. "There was no 'confusing kiss.' It was all utterly platonic. Besides," I press on, annoyed with Allison's look of utter skepticism, "I don't think I should take dating advice from a girl who insisted on dating a werewolf when her family was actively at war with them, and now that they're on good terms with the werewolves, refuses to date one."

Since I've gained control of the conversation once more and it's always important to get the last word in, I flounce away, leaving Allison with those words to ponder. And good Lord, I hope she takes them to heart. This Allison-Isaac thing has been brewing since the beginning of the semester: it's about _time _something actually happens. I don't think Allison's even kissed anyone in the five months since she and Scott broke up. And that is simply unhealthy, in my humble opinion.

I walk into Econ to see that Stiles and Scott are A) early (suspicious) and B) sitting in the front row (extremely suspicious). It takes me two seconds to recall that second period is Coach's first class of the day and thus he will discover any prank set up last night during this class period. Shaking my head, I deliberately ignore the empty seat to Scott's right and sit in my usual one by the window in the third row. Danny catches my eye and smile - I smile back solely because it's Danny and it's scientifically impossible to be rude to Danny, no matter how sexually frustrated you are.

There are still no new texts. Well, actually, there is one from Dad telling me that he's going to be out of town this weekend. Like I was going to visit him Halloween weekend anyway. I pull up my last conversation with Aiden.

10/20/11 4:07 p.m. _My mom's out for the night. Come over?_

And nothing.

Let me very clear: I do not double-text. I don't fall prey to the insecure girl's mantra of "maybe he missed my text." In this day and age, nobody misses texts. If someone doesn't respond the first time, they're ignoring you.

Yet in spite of this sage knowledge, my fingers begin tapping over the keyboard of their own volition.

_Where'd you disappear to, China?_

I delete it quickly.

_Are you going to Danny's party tomorrow?_

No, that's pathetic too.

_Do you want to come over tonight? I miss you._

I stare at the words, trying to make sense of them. _Did _I miss Aiden? I miss his body, sure, his abs in particular and his chest. God, that chest. I missed how warm he was to lay beside. But was there any other part of his presence that I crave? My mind is daring a blank.

"Son of a bitch!"

The shout - coming from Coach's adjoining office, obviously - causes me to jump in my seat and my thumb comes dangerously close too pressing "send." I hit "p" instead and after breathing out a thanks to the gods of texting, delete the message.

"Mischief Night!" Coach rages as he stomps into the classroom, throwing a pencil from his desk to the floor in an aggravated sweeping gesture. "Devil's Night! I don't care what you call it - you little puns are evil!" Giggles and snickers are erupting across the classroom and I smile slightly. Alright, even I have to admit seeing Coach worked up like this is fairly amusing.

Coach seems not to agree. "You think it's funny that every Halloween my house gets egged? A man's house is supposed to be his castle! Mine's a freakin' omelet!" He punctuates his sentence by slamming his hands on Scott's desk, who is struggling to maintain a straight face. Stiles isn't even trying - even from this angle I recognize the expression of pure glee on his face as he makes a little fist pump of victory.

"Oh this, we're gonna do this again, huh?" Coach grabs the small present sitting on his desk with a crazed grin. "I don't think so!" He drops it to the ground and stomps his foot on it - it makes a sound like a plate being dropped in a restaurant. Sure enough he straightens up with a piece of a ceramic mug in one hand and a care in another. "Happy Birthday," he reads aloud, clearly dismayed with the realization that he mistook a legitimate birthday present for a joke.

I stop paying attention as my phone buzzes. Or, I think it does, but it turns out there's actually a fly near my ear. I swat at it blindly, wondering why I seem to be attracting all the pesky bugs today. It flies just out of my reach and a I swat at it again. I swear my hand comes in contact with right where the sound is coming from, but I can't hit it. Eventually I turn my head to try locating it. I find Danny's questioning gaze instead.

"What are you doing?" He half-mouths, half-whispers.

"There's a fly," I whisper back, even though he probably saw it anyway. The look he returns to me is part confused, part concerned for my sanity.

The buzzing swells. It sounds like it's coming from above now, but when I look up all I see is the fluorescent lights. Is that where the sound is originating? I glance around, certain that if it is, I'm not the only one it's annoying. No one seems bother at all. Which means...

I'm the only one who can hear it.

* * *

I manage to make it through Econ without any major freak-outs. For a split-second I consider rushing out after Scott and telling him about the noises; one look at his relaxed, happy face stops me. Everything's finally settled back down and this is probably the least stressed I've seen him in months. If I tell him I'm hearing things, he'll jump to the worst conclusions. As far as I know, the buzzing could be nothing.

I have History next, and then it's my free period, so I go to the library to get a head start on this week's homework. Or, that's what I _plan _to do before a hand reaches out and closes my locker, separating me from my books. The familiar smell of aftershave, grass and boy hits me, and desire fills me stomach.

Are enough, I'm met with a pair of familiar brown eyes. "Oh no," I say, shaking my head as Aiden smirks at me, like he know exactly what he's been doing to me the past few weeks. "There's no way you come back here after two weeks of _nothing_, with your cute little smile, the dark eyes, the brooding forehead, the muscles…" my voice wavers on that last one as I catch sigh of his bicep. "And suddenly we're ripping each other's clothes off in Coach's office." His eyes travel up and down my body, suggesting he'd like nothing better than to do just that. I will myself to remain strong. "No way. It's not gonna happen."

His eyes are smoldering, so I look away.

For about half a second.

The next thing I know, I'm dragging him through the empty locker room and he pushes me up against the door of Coach's office, kissing my neck. For a split second my mind flashes to the last time I kissed someone in here and my hand goes toward the handle, pushing the door open. Aiden lifts me off my feet with his enthusiasm, before we pause to take in our surroundings.

The office is completely dismantled: all of Coach's motivation posters are on the floor, the chair is on it's side, even the desk is crooked. I see some strings and evidence of trip wiring and realize this must be the joke that sent Coach storming into our class earlier.

"Uh," Aiden looks completely baffled. "Guidance office?'

"Okay." I agree, snatching his hand and marching him away.

* * *

Twenty minutes late I'm satisfied for the first time in two weeks and searching the office for my discarded pug sweater.

"So I was wondering," Aiden begins in a far-too-casual tone that means he wants something. "Since you obviously like having me around, maybe you could talk to Scott and convince him I'm not such a bad guy."

I give a little snort with my sweater halfway over my head. "Um, why would I do that?" That would be such a girlfriend thing to do. Also, I would have a hard time convincing Scott that Aiden was a good person after what he and Ethan made Derek do to Boyd.

The thought sobers me instantly. Aiden is a killer. And not be accident, like Jackson was. He'd intentionally killed people, by his own choice.

"Because you like me and you'd rather I stay in one piece." Aiden replies smugly.

I'm about to retort that he over-estimates my affection for him when something clicks in my brain. "You want me to talk to Scott because he's an alpha and you want to join his pack." I say slowly, crossing my arms. "And that's why you came back. Couldn't tough it as Omegas, could you?" The spoiled brat in me wants to be pissed about him coming back for a reason other than me. But another, wiser part is also glad, because it means he hasn't developed any kind of deep romantic feelings that would ruin this arrangement we have. I shake my head. "You're crazy if you think Scott will ever let you join."

Aiden looks irritated. "We talked to him this morning, but he said no, which is stupid. He needs more Betas, he only has Lahey. That's not enough. And we _did _help you guys out a few weeks ago."

I give him my best unimpressed stare. "By turning his face into Beef Stroganoff?"

Now Aiden's snarling. "We were _trying _to provoke him into changing which is what you asked us to do."

"No, I _asked _you to teach him how to do an alpha howl, and possibly help him with his whole being afraid to turn thing." I retort, watching his nails lengthen and sharpen into claws. "And even if you honestly thought that was the only way, you went too far. Even Ethan thought so. You lost your temper," I say evenly, because I've learned not to show fear in front of a predator. "Just like you're doing now."

Aiden realizes himself and retracts his claws. "Well, sorry we can't all be perfect saints like Scott." He replies bitterly. "I mean, Lahey's like the biggest, stupidest thug I've ever met, but somehow he's part of the pack without ques-" He stops mid-word.

"What?" I snap after a little while, recognizing the signs of werewolf eavesdropping. "What do you hear?"

He turns to me with a grave expression. "The police are here."

I want to laugh at the solemnity in his voice. "The police are always here. I'm pretty sure they do a weekly check-in at this point. It's probably not a big-"

At that instant my phone buzzes for real this time. I pull it out to see a text from Stiles lighting up the screen.

_Mass murderer Barrow running loose. They think he's HERE. Definitely some supernatural shit involved. Meet at the top of the south wing stairs NOW. _

_Ah, Stiles of the impeccable timing_, was my first thought. Then the contents register. Barrow, as in William Barrow, the shrapnel bomber? This _was _a big deal._  
_

"What is it?" Aiden asks, trying to read my screen.

I shove my phone away. "None of your concern," I tell him sweetly because it was a group text sent to Scott, Isaac, Allison and I, and if Scott doesn't want the twins in the pack I'm not going to drag Aiden along to pack meetings without his consent. It strikes me briefly what a loyal and obedient thought that is to have, but I don't have time to dissect it. "You should find your brother." I tell Aiden before rushing out of the office.

It looks like our brief respite is officially over.

* * *

"Barrow went after kids with glowing eyes?" Isaac confirms as we rush down the stairs. After waiting around for Scott for a few minutes, we decided he probably hadn't seen the text and were off to hunt him down as a group. "He said those exact words?" He sounds considerably concerned and I don't blame him. This new revelation that Barrow might not be as crazy as everyone thinks and was in fact trying to kill werewolves brings up a lot of unpleasant possibilities. For a second I regret not keeping an eye on Aiden but push the worry down. Aiden and Ethan are both experienced killers. They can handle an injured mental patient. Scott is the priority right now.

"Yeah," Stiles confirms, leading the charge down the stairs as he relayed all the possibly supernatural information he'd gotten from his dad. "And no one knows how he woke up from anesthesia, just that when they opened him up, they found a tumor full of live flies -"

I stop walking.

Flies?

"-which in any other circumstance would be all kinds of _awesome_-"

"Did you say flies?" I interrupt abruptly, causing all of them to turn expectantly.

"Lydia?" Allison prompts, sensing i have something important to share.

"All day I've been hearing this sound," I explain, wishing I had trusted my instincts and gone to Scott earlier. "It's like this…buzzing."

"Like the sound of flies?" Allison makes the connection instantly.

I nod. "Exactly like the sound of flies."

Everyone silent for a moment as they take this in. I think their reaction couldn't get any worse when Isaac exhales, "Well _fuck_."

Stiles's head snaps around and he gives Isaac a withering look. "Calm down, Captain Pessimist. This could be a good thing."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but don't Lydia's abilities being involved always result in someone dying?" Isaac folds his arms and quirks an eyebrow challengingly.

"No, when she was drawing the Nematon on everything that actually helped us _save _lives." Stiles points out. "No one died - well, no one we actually cared about."

Now Isaac raises both eyebrows. "Um, what about you, Scott and Allison? You three died."

"_Temporarily__-"_

_"_Okay!" Allison throws up her hands to halt what was undoubtedly about to become a grade-school level argument. "This is pointless. We need to find Scott. I say we split up and each take a hallway and meet back here. Keep an eye on your phone and be careful, Isaac in particular."

"Yeah, don't glow your eyes at anything," puts in Stiles. Isaac chooses to roll said eyes at him instead before stalking off in the opposite direction.

I head down the history wing, half looking for Scott, half trying to follow the buzzing sound. Unfortunately it doesn't seem to be coming from any particular direction. Now that I'm paying attention, it almost sounds like the noise is getting louder.

No.

It _is _getting louder.

I reach the doors at the end of the hallway and as I glance out the window I see groups of officers heading away from the building. They're leaving.

I should be relieved. They wouldn't leave unless they were absolutely sure it was safe. I'm not relieved. I'm not relieved because underneath that buzzing is a certainty growing inside me, that same feeling I got every time someone went missing and I just _knew _they were going to turn up dead.

Barrow is here.

* * *

I find Scott at the same time Stiles does, at the other end of the hallway outside Mr. Yukimara's history room, where he must have wondered to after I passed by the first time. There's an audible squeak of tennis shoes against linoleum as Stiles skids toward Scott, a look of combined annoyance and relief on his face.

"Hey dude, where the hell have you been?" He's demanding of Scott as I approach.

Before Scott - who, judging by his expression of sheer confusion, has not been paying attention to his phone or indeed his basic surroundings - can answer, I cut him off. "The police are leaving. Why are they leaving?"

"The police?" Scott echoes, sounding genuinely concerned and oblivious.

Ladies and Gentleman, the leader of the pack.

Stiles must be equally unimpressed with Scott right now because he ignores his question in favor of mine. "They must have cleared the building and grounds, which means he's not here," He deduces, quickly coming to the same conclusion I did.

"Who?" Scott looks between us like we're speaking Polish. "What are you guys-"

"He has to be here!" I burst out. "That buzzing I've been hearing? It's getting louder."

Stiles looks grim. "How loud?"

I don't say anything, just close my eyes painfully in response. It's getting past the point of overwhelming.

Scott wait for about five seconds before asking again: "What's going on?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Man, you're gonna wish you didn't ask."

* * *

After we fill Scott in on the details of Barrow's creepy escape from the hospital, the bit about the glowing eyes, and my most recent manifestation of Banshee powers whilst running toward the front doors, he finally snaps into leader mode. "Okay, you two go find the Sheriff and stop him from leaving. I'm going to call my Mom, see if she can bring something of Barrow for us to pick up a scent." He hesitates and glances at Stiles. "I think I'm going to ask the twins for help."

"You think they're still here?" Stiles looks around skeptically as if expecting Aiden and Ethan to materialize out of the floor.

"They're here." Scott and I say at the same time. He raises his eyebrows at me and I shrug unapologetically. My sex life is none of Scott McCall's concern. Scott clears his throat and continues. "So the four of us will search the basement and see if we can't pick up something." At Stiles's dubious expression, he adds, "We'll split up into pairs so Isaac isn't near the twins and meet in the boiler room."

"He could be upstairs too." I point out. "There's a lot of empty classrooms that don't get used much up there."

"But it's more likely he's in the basement." Stiles adds. "So what if all the wolves searched the basement and the rest of us searched upstairs?"

Scott hesitates. "Okay, but I kinda wanted Allison to go home and see if she could go through the Bestiary and figure out what's happening with Barrow."

There's a moment of silence in which Stiles and I exchange equally knowing looks and come to the silent agreement that this is absolutely Scott sending Allison on a usual mission purely for the purpose of getting her out of harm's way. Old habits die hard, I suppose. I let it slide because Allison is my favorite person in the world and if the school does end up getting blown up, I'd rather she not be in it.

Wait, who said anything about the school being blown up?

Stiles shoots Scott a look that says _Nice try buddy, but you need to work on your subtlety. _"Okay, then Lydia and I will search upstairs and if any creepy murderers jump out at us, we'll just scream really loudly and attempt to survive until you get there."

"Comforting." I say bitingly, but it comes out a lot weaker than I intended. Stiles and Scott look at each other worriedly and Scott nods.

"I'll find Isaac and the twins." He peels off in the other direction. "Good luck!"

I wince at the volume of his voice as Stiles pushes through the doors. "Wait here," he mutters before breaking into the world's most awkwardly frantic run. "Dad! Dad!"

The Sheriff turns around and stops. I'm pretty sure he shouts something back but he's too far away and I can't hear. The buzzing is so loud I can't hear anything from more than two feet away, sot that's not saying much. Trying to distract myself from the pressure building inside my head, I lean against the open door and pick at the chipping blue pain. The buzzing gets louder and I close my eyes tightly. When I open them, Stiles and the Sheriff are both looking at me like I hold the answers to everything in the universe. Feeling self-conscious, I give them a sarcastic wave with one hand.

The Sheriff says something else then starts backing away. Wait, is he still leaving? Why is he leaving? Stiles shouts something back at him, looking flabbergasted and dismayed.

"An eyewitness saw Barrow at the train station," he grumbles in response to the quizzical eyebrow I give him. "Eyewitness trumps Banshee apparently."

A weight settles in my gut. "He doesn't believe me."

"No, no, he does." Stiles insists. "He's just new to all this supernatural stuff, you know? It's hard for him to trust someone having a feeling over actu-_normal _evidence," he corrects. "Anyway, he's at least leaving a couple officers here and the school's on lockdown, so there's that."

Anxiety threatens to explode out of my chest. "That's not enough." I whisper. Something terrible was coming. And apparently it was all up to us to stop it.

* * *

We run into Allison on our way upstairs and fill her in on Scott's job for her. She looks less than impressed at first, but Stiles ends up selling it pretty well, reminding her how sunk they were in the Kanima situation before they had the Bestiary. By the time we return to the doors there are officers blocking them, so we head into an empty classroom and Stiles picks the lock on the window with his pocketknife.

"The Bestiary is literally a thousand pages long," Allison says as she opens the window. "If I'm going to find anything about flies coming out of people's bodies, it could take me all night."

"And remember, the word in archaic Latin for fly is Muska." I tell her for probably the fifth time.

To her credit, Allison doesn't look annoyed, she just says "Got it," and slips out of the window far more gracefully than someone in a skirt should be able to.

"Where do we start?"

"Upstairs." I reply without thinking. Then I realize that _obviously _we were starting there and he was probably looking for a more specific suggestion. Stiles seems to have accepted I'm too distracted to be very useful today because he just nods and looks at the clock.

"We gotta go!" He exclaims, grabbing my hand and dragging me from the room.

By the time we reach the art room, the noise is defining. I can hardly even keep my own thoughts straight. Stiles is searching around the room frantically, looking around for clues and I'm just standing by one of the cork boards, feeling like we're missing something obvious.

"Scott and Isaac are in the basement, right?' I ask, trying to figure out the detail of this plan that's bothering me.

"Yup, with Ethan and Aiden." Stiles replies, only half paying attention to me. "And the plan is, they meet in the middle at the boiler room."

I freeze.

That was the detail that struck me wrong.

But why?

My eyes light upon a piece of artwork on the cork board. A charcoal and pencil depiction of a bomb going off.

Oh god.

"All of the wolves," I say slowly, horror filling me. "All of the ones with 'glowing eyes' are in the basement at the boiler room?"

To his credit, it takes Stiles much less time to piece that part together than it took me. "Oh my God." He whips around, finally giving me all his attention. "An engineer could use a boiler room to blow up the whole school."

My throat closes at the thought of Scott, Isaac, Aiden and Ethan being blown to bits. "We have to get them out of there."

"We have to get _everyone _out."

"How do we do that?" I whisper frantically. Getting four werewolves out was one thing. Several hundred students was another thing entirely.

For a moment, Stiles looks as overwhelmed as I feel. Then, oddly, his face breaks into a mischievous grin. "Oh yes, I've got the _best _plan." He crows, running to the door.

"Which is?"

"You'll see. Follow me!" We run back downstairs in record time. At this point I'm seriously regretting my heels and wishing I'd had more than a yogurt for breakfast. Lunch came and went hours ago. Near the courtyard, Stiles seems to spy what he's searching for and makes a beeline for it.

I see it too and groan. "Oh no."

"Oh _yes_." He rubs his hands together gleefully and points to me. "Keep watch. Let me know if a teacher is coming." Then he proceeds to pull the fire alarm.

The effect is instantaneous. Teachers and students - already on high alert from the police and the lockdown - come streaming out of classrooms, paying no attention to the two conspicuous students standing near the fire alarm. Stiles craned his neck to watch them go, holding the alarm for a tad longer than necessary. It seems like at least half the school is outside in a matter of seconds and have to admit as far plans go, this one's not half-bad. I turn to Stiles, who has let go of the fire alarm and is now doing a small victory dance...

…right in front of Coach who has suddenly appeared behind him and is now lurking behind Stiles's shoulder. Uh oh.

I widen my eyes as far as they go and clear my throat to say _stop what you're doing right now!_ Stiles's face falls and he glances over his shoulder, jerking back in alarm when he sees how close Coach's face is to his.

"This - I - what do you -" Coach sputters, inarticulate with rage. A student pushes into him in her haste to get outside and sends him stumbling. He lets out a noise of pure fury and pulls Stiles outside - by the ear.

"Pulling a fire alarm on Mischief Night is one thing, doing so when there's a mass murderer spotted nearby is INSANE!" He bursts out, finally releasing Stiles as I hurry to catch up. "If I were four years younger, I'd - I'd punch you!"

That's probably one of the least sensical things I've ever heard Coach say. Stiles is equally perplexed. "What? Coach, that does't make any sense."

"Oh, well it does to me!" Coach blusters before stomping off to god knows where.

I search for our friends in the crowd of students, my hand finding Stiles's unconscious in my worry. What if something happened and they're stuck in the school? What if -

"There." Stiles points across the grounds and I spot Scott, Isaac, Aiden and Ethan. The pit in my stomach disappears and I nearly send Stiles sprawling in my haste to get to the others.

"We didn't find anything." Scott fills us in when we arrive.

"Not even a scene," adds Aiden, sounding considerably frustrated. It's not directed at me exactly, but it feels like it.

The buzzing is still deafening.

Stiles checks his phone and frowns. "It's three o'clock, so school's over. If there was a bomb wouldn't he have set it off by now?"

Scott, Isaac and Aiden exchange confused glances because we haven't filled them in on the hypothetical bomb situation yet. Ethan takes the comment in stride. "Does that mean everybody's saw?"

And then _all _of them look at me, as if I know. I shrink back without meaning to. "I don't know." I admit. The buzzing has reaches some sort of crescendo but nothing is happening. Logic tells me that since school is over and everyone is outside now, we're all safe. But I'm certain that we're not. "I just don't know."

Aiden and Ethan exchange looks, Isaac mutters something under his breath, and Stiles won't meet my eyes. But the worst is Scott. He looks so completely disappointed that a wave of shame crashes over me. I've failed him. I've failed all of them. "You're just a bunch of stupid teenagers," Derek's sister Cora had once accused. "Running around, thinking you can stop people from getting killed. But all you do is show up to late. All you really do is find the bodies." Except she was wrong. My friends _do _stop people from getting killed. I'm the one who just finds the bodies.

I'm the useless one.

"Lydia?" I look up to see Scott giving me a concerned look, all traces of disappointment gone. "You okay?"

I nod, barely, noticing that Aiden and Ethan have disappeared while I was lost in thought. Isaac shifts uncomfortably, glancing at Scott before muttering something about going to help Allison. Scott watches him go with narrowed eyes and there is an awkward silence for a few moments.

Stiles, of course, is the one to break it. "Weeell." He stretches out, clapping a hand on Scott's shoulder. "The chances of my Dad being home for dinner are, like, zero, so do you wanna come over and do takeout?"

Scott rolls his eyes at the obvious attempt to distract him from the Allison and Isaac situation but manages a smile anyway. "Sure. Pizza?'

"Ugh, _no_. We always get pizza and it's so greasy and heavy."

"What, are you trying to watch your weight?"

"Very funny. Anyway, I was thinking Thai…"

I tune out the lighthearted bickering. The buzzing is fading. It's not just my imagination. I glance back at the school to see Coach leading the last few straggles out. Could that be why? No, that makes no sense. There was no scent. And no bomb. Why had I been so certain about that bomb? I'd thought it was one of my banshee instincts, but maybe it was just a random thought that had popped into my head. How am I supposed to tell the difference? What-

"So, Lydia." Once again Scott is the one to pull me back to reality. "Pizza or Thai?"

They're both looking at me expectantly, like my opinion on this debate is important. "What?"

"Do you want pizza or Thai tonight?" Scott asks and I realize he's attempting to subtly invite me over.

I fold my arms. "Are you asking if I want to hang out with you two tonight?" I intend for the question to come out lofty and superior, like I she _far _better things to do than eat junk food with them. Except it comes out more insecure and needy than anything else.

Scott shrugs. "Yeah. When's the last time the three of us hung out together with just us?"

"Probably never," Stiles points out. "Not without Alli- we'll, it's never been just the three of us," he backtracks quickly.

"Come on, it'll be fun." Scott insists, either not noticing or ignoring Stiles's slip-up.

I pursue my lips and pretend to think long and hard. "All right." I finally agree. "But you're going to regret asking me, Scott, because unfortunately for you, I am a Thai-food girl."

Scott releases a melodramatic moan and Stiles gives a war whoop. I can't help but smile. What a pair of complete idiots.

* * *

I end up going home for a bit to do some homework and arrive at Stiles's house around six. Sure enough, his Jeep is the only car in the driveway - I notice that Scott's motorbike also isn't there. I'm surprised, because I figured he would've gone there straight after school since he doesn't have work today.

"Where's Scott?" I ask by way of greeting when Stiles answers the door, kicking off my shoes and leaving them by the door.

Stiles shuts the door behind me and locks it, checking out the window to ensure no creepy mass-murderers are lurking outside. "Ditching us for what's got to be the most awkward dinner in the history of the world."

I'm intrigued. "Do I want to know?"

"Mr. Yukimara came to us after you left." He explains, leading me to the kitchen. "You know, Kira's dad? The new girl? Apparently he wanted to thank Scott for saving Kira from Malia - not that he knows it was Malia, he thought she was just a coyote obviously. Anyway, he invited Scott to dinner."

My eyebrows shoot up at that. "And he said _yes_?" I demand. It's basically an unspoken rule that you never have dinner with your teachers.

Oddly, Stiles smirks. "Dont' tell me you haven't noticed Scott staring at Kira longingly from across the hallway."

I haven't, actually. Yes, I noticed some sparks of interest when she came up to our lunch table the other week, but I really haven't seen enough of Kira to be able to tell such a thing. I've never heard Scott even mention her. "Well, good for Scott. Maybe he can finally move on from Allison. Though dinner with the parents is not really the best way to go."

Stiles pulls out a pair of glasses from the cupboard. "The guy specializes in awkward. You remember how he was with Allison. Milk, water or Mountain Dew?

_Vodka_, I think, eyeing the liquor cabinet above the fridge. I can't remember the last time I've wanted to just knock back a few shots and forget the entire day. But getting caught driving the _Sheriff's _liquor on a school night is not something I ever want to experience. Plus there's a mass murderer running around. Best to stay alert. "Water."

Stiles pours my glass before pulling out the bottle of Mountain Dew and filling his own up to the brim with no ice.

I eye him warily. "That seems like such a poor choice."

"I'm, like, seconds away from falling flat on my face." He admits, taking a big gulp. "I got four hours of sleep last night, three the night before…I've been compensating with Adderall but I'm crashing-"

"You know that using more than your prescribed amount of Adderall counts as drug abuse, right?" I interrupt sternly. "And consuming copious amounts of caffeine isn't going to help anything. Just go to sleep."

He snorts. "With Barrow on the loose? Yeah, I'm sure we're all going to sleep _real _soundly tonight. Besides, I've got over a week's-worth of homework to catch up on."

"How did you get a week behind in homework?" I demand, confused as to how Stiles managed to stay on top of school throughout the whole Alpha vs. Darach debacle but apparently was unable to keep up once things had gotten back to normal.

"Oh, I don't know." He replies with his most sarcastic voice, pulling cartons of Thai from the brown baggy on the counter. "Maybe it has something to do with the supernaturally-induced dyslexia that made doing homework basically impossible for a little while there."

"Oh yeah." I watch Stiles carefully out of the corner of my eye. He's definitely doing a lot better than he had been a few weeks ago, but it seems like he's still experiencing side-effects from the side-effects of the ritual, which I don't think is happening to either Scott or Allison. I wonder why that is.

It seems unfair that it's affecting his schoolwork, which in turn is affecting his health. But it's not like he could have gone to his teachers and explained _hey, I had to die for sixteen hours in a ritual so that my friends and I could save our parents' lives and apparently in the process of dying we all opened doors into our minds which for me means that I can't read and am functioning on zero hours of sleep, so can I be excused from homework until I figure out how to close that door? _Yeah, that wouldn't have worked so well.

"Do you want help catching up?" I ask because at least _this _is something I'm good at.

Stiles pauses in his unpacking of the food and gives me the best Bambi impression I've ever seen. "Are you serious? Oh man, Lydia, you have no idea how much that would help me. Thank you, thank you-"

"Stop groveling, it's unattractive." I snap, but smile anyway. "What do you need help with?"

"History." His reply is instant. "I missed the whole section on Japanese internment camps. If you could just give over that with me-"

"Get your book." I order and he dashes out of the room, boundless energy restored. I shake my head and take the moment alone to really look around the Stilinski kitchen. It occurs to me that this is only the third time I've been to Stiles's house. The first time I went straight to his room, the second time I waited in the front hallway. I've never been in the kitchen or even this part of the house before. It's kind of cluttered but otherwise very clean. I wonder if they have someone come once a week to clean it like we do. I wouldn't peg the Sheriff as the type to hire help, but I also don't see either him or Stiles having the time and the patience to wipe down the baseboards every week.

My gaze slides over to the wall behind the table and focuses on the picture hanging there. For a moment I don't recognize the Sheriff without all the lines on his face. He looks about twenty years younger, but then I notice the goofy kid standing in front of him that has to be Stiles at age seven or so. This picture can't be more than ten years old.

I cross the room to get a better look. The young Sheriff is intriguing and Stiles with his toothless grin falls somewhere between hilarious and endearing, but I'm drawn to the woman in the picture. Maybe it's because they have the same mannerisms and such a similar personality, but I've never noticed how little Stiles resembles his Dad until I saw this photograph. He's basically a carbon-copy of his Mom with the same coloring, long body shape, and face.

Something painful lodges in my throat when I look at the picture. I have literally never heard Stiles mention his Mom. Never. It actually took me a few months of knowing Stiles to figure out his Mom was dead and not just absent like Scott's Dad. When I asked Allison about it and she told me the few details she knew, I realized that I actually _had _known Stiles once. Everyone at school had known him, as "the kid with the sick mom" and then "the kid with the dead mom."

I remember it being a really big deal when she was diagnosed; Stiles was pulled out of school for the day and Mrs. Fenton sat our class down to explain in the most rudimentary and condescending way possible that his Mom was really sick and that we needed to be supportive and understanding. One kid suggesting sending a class get-well card which caused Mrs. Fenton to awkwardly try to explain that she _wasn't _going to get better without explicitly telling a bunch of eight year olds that she was going to die. I also remember being the only one who could pronounce "frontotemporal dementia" properly and being quite pleased with myself for that. The whole thing was the most exciting thing to happen in school for about a week, then everyone forgot about it until she died in fifth grade. I heard about it but it barely left any impression on me because we were in different classes at that point and I couldn't even remember what "the kid with the dead mom" looked like. So I said "That's too bad" and never thought about it again.

I hear Stiles come clomping down the stairs and quickly wipe at my eyes, which are just starting to tear up. He freezes when he sees me standing right next to the picture. "Uh-"

"Your Dad is, like, super young." I say casually, attempting to circumvent and uncomfortable situation. "I didn't know that. How old is he?"

"Forty-one." Stiles unfreezes and shrugs, moving toward the table and shoving papers out of the way to make room for our food. "Yeah, I know," he adds, seeing the look of shock on my face. "He's, like, five years younger than Melissa but he looks older. The job ages you, I guess. All the stress, being responsible for everyone's lives, the constant overwhelming danger…" He shoots me a wry look. "So at the rate we're going, we're all going to look fifty when we're twenty."

I doll out a reasonable-sized portion of Pad Thai onto a plate. "So he must have been, what, twenty-four when you were born? That's pretty young."

Stiles takes the carton when I'm finished and sticks his fork straight into it. My disdain must show because he says defensively, "Eating any kind of americanized asian food from a plate is a crime, you're _supposed_ to eat it from the carton. And yeah, he was, my parents were only married for about a month before my Mom got pregnant. I was a total accident. They tried to pretend I wasn't, but I finally got my Dad to admit it a couple years ago."

"Hmm," I reply around a mouthful of food, trying not to show my shock at having heard the words "my Mom" come out of Stiles's mouth for the first time. The truth is, I have no idea how to deal with grieving people. I've never actually lost anyone. The closest I've come was the few hours where I believed Jackson was dead. The only people I've known who've actually died were Boyd and Erica, and my contact with them was minimal, though I suppose Boyd's death hit me hard, mostly because I'd saved his life only to see him die a week later. My method for dealing with Allison's grief over her recently-dead mother has been just short of avoidance. We've never talked about it directly, which I not realize makes me a horrible best friend.

"What's the last thing you remember from History?" I ask, because realistically, this is all I'm good for. I can't track down escaped murderers or even talk to a friend about their dead mother. All I can do is try to save Stiles from failing History, because I certainly can't help anyone save the world.

I haven't heard any buzzing in hours.

I'm starting to think it was all in my head.

* * *

A/N: So there's part One! Just a few notes:

I'm not dismissing Aiden's feelings for Lydia. There are many hints in canon that he really cares about her more deeply than their physical relationship. I just don't believe he shows this side to her because he's insecure and he knows she doesn't think very highly of him (I have a lot of sympathy and feelings for Aiden and found his death really tragic.)

I'm not trying to Scott-bash (I love Scott to itty-bitty-pieces), I was just trying to stick to canon with includes in this episode Scott being completely oblivious to a bunch of police running around and his friends trying to get in contact with him. That actually happened and it was a little ridiculous. So Lydia just chalks it up to Scott being kind of an idiot, which he can be sometimes.

Parts of the script work well in tv-format but don't translate that well to an actual format. Like when Stiles mentions the bomb and the werewolves all seem to know exactly what he's talking about even though there was no gap in time where he and Lydia could have explained that. So I modified some things a little and explained away some others. (I'm thinking of modifying the exchange in chemistry lab about the numbers on the blackboard, because I have serious trouble accepting that Stiles wouldn't know that Potassium was K or Radium was Ra. I'm pretty sure the scriptwriters had him say the radium line for dramatic purposes and the Potassium line because they wanted to make Lydia sound smart by explaining why Potassium was K (or maybe because they were honestly surprised that Potassium was K because they failed basic seventh-grade chemistry). I could buy maybe Isaac or the twins beings stupefied by such a thing, but I refuse to believe that Stiles didn't know that. Potassium's one of the easiest elements to learn, mostly because it _is _weird that it's K. I wrote that scene and couldn't fit in any reasonable explanation for why Stiles wouldn't know that. Not to mention that Lydia seems totally unconcerned he doesn't know that. He should have gotten some serious eye-rolling for that).

I tried to highlight Lydia's relationships with Allison, Stiles and Scott so hopefully I did all of them some justice! Also I hope her relationship with Aiden was okay and her mild pining for him at the beginning (she wants so badly to be fierce, independent and superior, but at the end of the day she is only human and - more importantly - a horny teenager. So yes, she misses the sex. That's totally allowed.) And she does care about him, even if she's not in love with him and is struggling with his murderous past.

Let me know what you thought!


	2. Part Two

A/N: Hey all! Sorry this took so long, I had trouble finding an ending and eventually I just said "Screw it" and finished it. So it ends abruptly. Sorry.

Any discrepancies between this an the actual episode (the chalkboard scene) are changes I made on purpose to make it make more sense (I refuse to believe a smart kid like Stiles wouldn't know that Kalium was 'K' or Radium was 'Ra'. Just no).

* * *

Part Two

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf. If I did, Lydia Martin would get twice as much screen time as she currently does.

* * *

We finish dinner and get Stiles caught up in History and English before he gets antsy and insists on going upstairs to do research on William Barrow. I agree to help even though I seriously doubt we're going to find the information we need on the Internet.

In the doorway to Stiles's room, I do a double-take. "I see you've done some redecorating." By which I mean the entire wall opposite his door is covered with newspaper clippings and pictures all connected with red yarn. Most of the picture are of dead bodies; I recognize the guy I found at the pool a few months ago and wrinkle my nose. "What a lovely sight to wake up to in the morning."

"It's an investigation board." Stiles defends, dropping into his desk chair. "Have you never seen CSI?"

"No, I see enough dead bodies in my daily life, thanks." I retort, lying down on the foot of his bed so I'm propped up on my elbows. I watch as he does a quick google search of Barrow and prints out pictures of him and Eichen House, the mental hospital he'd been institutionalized at. "You're not printing out a picture of the school?"

Stiles snorts, digging through his desk to pull out four spools of different colored string. "Are you kidding? With all the shit that's gone down there? It's up there five times over already." He tosses the spools next to me on the bed before turning to the wall and tacking up the pictures. I'm curious as to why he's brought out the yellow, green and blue spools since it looks like he's only used red so far. It doesn't look like he's planning on using them today either, because he cuts off a few pieces of the red string before tossing the spool back with the others.

"What do the different colored strings mean?" I ask as Stiles connects the picture of Barrow with one of the school.

"Just different stages of the investigation." Stiles explains. "So green's solves, yellow's to-be-determined, blue's just…" He pauses, looking at the blue like he doesn't remember what it's supposed to be. "…pretty."

That's all well and good, but he's missing the most important one. "What does red mean?"

"Uh, unsolved."

I take in the massive amount of red string on the wall and the quickly diminishing spool. "You only have red on the board."

Stiles turns to me with his hands on his hips like I am the ultimate crusher of spirits. "Yes, I'm aware. Thank you."

He turns his attention back to the investigation board and I tug on the trail of string coming from the red spool, twirling it around my finger. "Did you get detention for pulling the alarm?" I ask, remembering how Coach had pulled him away from Scott and I after we cemented our dinner plan.

"Yup, every day this week." Stiles sounds resigned and I wince, closing my eyes as I wrap the string around my finger more tightly than I meant to. "It's okay though," he adds nonchalantly. "We were onto something, I know it."

There's no way he can actually believe that. Not with all the evidence pointing to the contrary. I stare at the string that's now cutting off my circulations. The red is a stark contrast against my bloodless skin. Red for unsolved. _Fitting_, I think. "Even though we couldn't find any proof of Barrow being there?"

I try to ask the question casually, like it hasn't been upsetting me. Something in my voice must give me away, because Stiles suddenly looks back at me with concern. I avert my eyes.

"Hey. Lydia." Stiles moves to the bed and kneels down next to it so his face is level with mine. "You have been right every time something like this has happened. Okay? So don't start doubting yourself now."

I'd like to just smile and accept that, as if I actually believe my hunches being correct a few times mean that I'm infallible, as if I'm actually the confident mask I wear who knows she's never wrong. But I'm not. I'm wrong all the time and I'm completely out of my depth when it comes to the supernatural. And Stiles…Stiles is sweet and loyal and more patient with me than I probably deserve, but he's the only one of us who seems to have a natural understanding of this stuff and he has to know that I messed up today. "No scent," I remind him. "No bomb. I got you in trouble…" I add quietly, tugging the string tighter around my finger.

"Okay." I blink and suddenly he's pushing my hand away from my finger, his own long ones gently untangling the snarls I've created. "Look, Barrow was there," he says as if that is a fact of the universe. The sky is blue, Mr. Argent is a DILF, and Barrow was at the school today. "Alright? You knew it, you felt it." He's looking down as he continues unraveling the string from my finger and I'm suddenly struck by how long his eyelashes are. Guys should not have eyelashes like that. Or eyes like that, really. It's not like I've never noticed them before, but this is the first time I realize they're actually beautiful. Stunning, even.

It's a good thing he's not looking at me, because I'm straight-up staring at his eyes in an obvious way. "And look," Stiles continues, finally finishing with the string and tossing it to the side, "if you wanted to, I'd–" Now he's ooking at me and my chest tightens but I don't break his gaze. "I'd go back to that school right now and search all night just to prove it."

The thing is, he really means it. Because he's Stiles and he can come up with a million and one lies in a heartbeat, but when it matters most he's incapable of being anything less than completely sincere. I smile tentatively, the feeling in my chest expanding. I recognize it from the day in the locker room, when I kissed him to calm him down from his panic attack. As I'd pulled away from him my heart was beating a million times a minute and there was this stupid voice screaming _again! Do that again! _that I'd had to push down. And he'd looked at me…like how he's looking at me now. Wonder. Awe. Faith. Something else, something deeper that scares me.

Something I'm not ready for.

I break eye contact and look down, biting the inside of my lip. Yes, maybe I'd felt something when I kissed him. Maybe my panicked scream when I pushed Stiles and Scott out of the way from that fire back at the Glen Capri had been about ten percent for Scott and ninety for Stiles. Maybe I'd even wanted to kiss him just two weeks ago when he saved me from that coyote trap, I'd leapt to safety into his arms, and our eyes had met, faces mere inches apart. Maybe Allison was right and there was something happening. That didn't mean that pursuing it would be a good idea. I'd just end up breaking his heart.

Stiles looks down too, thankfully not disappointed as far as I can tell. He probably has no idea I was thinking about kissing him just now. I watch him go very still, pulling off the cap of his sharpie and sniffing it, his eyes going wide and looking at the marker like it just grew wings and started flying.

"Get up," He orders, holding out a hand to stave off and questions. "Get up, we're going to the school."

* * *

Stiles refuses to tell me _why _we're going to the school, claiming he doesn't want to jinx whatever epiphany smelling his sharpie gave him. This irritates the hell out of me honestly, and by the time we break into the school I'm about ready to throttle him for keeping me in suspense.

"The chemistry classroom?" I ask skeptically as he leads me into Mr. Harris's old room. "I thought you hated this class."

He spares me a withering look. "We're not here for a trip down memory lane. We're here because I think this is where Barrow was hiding."

I'm not sure where Stiles came up with that theory, but he seems too intent on finding proof to explain it to me yet. "So what are we looking for?" He reaches for the door to the chemistry closet and I assume I'm about to see a demonstration of his lock-picking skills again when the door just opens. "Uh, that was supposed to be locked." The school has a very strict policy about keeping all chemicals locked in the closet after some young delinquents broke into the glass cabinet they _used _to be stored in and attempted to create a self-igniting Molotov cocktail.

"Yeah, I know." Stiles replies, bending down to inspect the shelves. "Notice anything else?"

I huff, not really appreciating his use of the Socratic method here. "It smells like chemicals," I say sarcastically, then realize what I just said. It _does _smell like chemicals. Really strongly of chemicals. My eyes widen when I see that some of the vials and beakers are missing their stoppers. "They wouldn't have been able to catch a scent," I deduce.

"Yup." Stiles crouches down low, shining the flashlight from his phone to reveal droplets of something dark. Blood. "He was here. Performing very minor _surgery _on himself." He looks up at me. "You were right."

I was _right_. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. "Then why don't I feel good about this."

"Probably because he was here to kill somebody." Stiles answers unhelpfully.

"But _who_?"

That's the only question that matters. We leave the chemistry closet and I look around the room.

"Let's spread out, look for clues," Stiles is saying as he starts riffling through papers, but he's looking in the wrong place.

He should be look at the chalkboard.

At the numbers.

I walk toward them slowly. 19, 53, 88. Potassium, Iodine, Radium. Not a formula. Not anything that would ever be grouped together. I move closer, trying to peer at the numbers. The handwriting is familiar. It shouldn't be, I've never met the new Chemistry teacher, much less seen his handwriting. Whose handwriting is that? Something tells me the answer is important.

"Lydia, what are those?" Stiles's question breaks my train of thought.

"Atomic numbers," I murmur, picking up the chalk from the ledge.

Stiles falls into step next to me. "What is it, some kind of formula?"

"Not really." I reply. "Nineteen's Potassium. The first two make Potassium Iodide." I write out 'K' next to the first number, thinking it might make more sense seeing it that way.

"Why is Potassium 'K' anyway?" Stiles muses.

"It's from Kalium," I explain. "The scientific neo-Latin name." I scribble out the I and then pause. Oh no.

Stiles stills as he recognizes the word forming too. "Tell me eighty-eight is not–"

"Radium," I whisper, writing out the two letters. "R-A."

"Kira."

* * *

Scott isn't answering his phone for the second time that day. This time I suspect there's a more sinister reason than him not paying attention. Stiles keeps getting more frantic with each successive attempt to reach Scott until I finally yank his phone away and order him to focus on driving. Fortunately I happen to know where Kira's house is because I actually saw them moving in on my way to school one morning.

We pull onto the street and I squint at an object in the distance. "I think that's Scott's bike."

"Okay, good, maybe he's still eating dinner or something." Stiles says desperately even though it's pushing ten o'clock and the chances of that are slim. "Oh shit, there's – there's someone-" He slams on the breaks, shifts the gear to neutral and pulls on the parking break before throwing himself out of the Jeep. I scramble to get out as well and see that there's a crumpled figure on the ground next to the bike. A body.

I run after Stiles down the road, panic increasing as I recognize Scott's jacket. Stiles leans down and exhales a huge sigh of relief. "I think he's just unconscious."

"_Knocked _unconscious," I note, seeing the dread blood trickling from his head, which thankfully seems to be healing.

"Scott!" Stiles shakes his shoulders. "Scott? Scott!" I'm about to suggest a better approach – one that involves calling Deaton or Scott's Mom – when Scott's eyes flutter open and he jerks up.

"Barrow!" He gasps out, confirming our suspicions. "He took Kira!"

"We know, he was after her the whole time." Stiles tells him, like Scott's confirmation wasn't a hug deal.

"What?"

"He was hiding in the chemistry closet," Stiles recaps. "The smell disguised his scent. There was a coded message on the chalkboard spelling out Kira's name."

Scott looks confused. "Why? Who wrote it?"

_Yes Lydia, who wrote it? _A whisper nagged at me.

"We don't know," Stiles said impatiently. "But that doesn't matter right now. We've got to find them. Do you think Allison and Isaac found any information?"

"Let's ask."

Scott's calling Isaac but I can't bring myself to pay attention. I was right, somehow, against all evidence. And yet it was still useless. I was too late. We were going to show up too late and find a dead body again.

"All right, thanks." Scott hangs up the phone looking disappointed. "We have to think of something, he's going to kill her."

"I knew he was there." I burst out. "How did I know that?" I need to get a harness on this, to understand my abilities. Otherwise Kira is going to die.

"Because you heard the flies, right?" Stiles reminds me, which is totally unhelpful because the flies stopped buzzing hours ago.

"What do you hear now?" Scott asks hopefully.

He's looking for answers, for a solution I can't give. "Nothing," I say bitterly. "I feel like I can do this, but I don't know what to do." I move forward, wishing I could just rip out my hair in frustration. I want to hit something, kick something, scream my anger out at the top of my lungs. "It's like it's on the tip of my tongue but I don't know how to trigger it." I admit, moving even farther past them. "I - I swear to God, it literally makes me want to scream."

"Alright, then scream." Stiles says like it's obvious. "Lydia, scream."

I scream.

It rips free from my throat, long, high and painful as always, like I'm tearing out a piece of my own soul. The sound fades away and nothing happens. There's no sound. Not even my breath or racing heart.

Then, the buzzing.

Only this time, it's coming from above.

I look up slowly. There it is. The source.

A street light.

"It's not flies." I whip around so fast that Stiles and Scott physically jump back. "It's electricity."

I'm smiling as the puzzle clicks into place. This hasn't done anything or saved anyone, Kira could already be dead as far as we know, but at least I figure this out. The buzzing was electricity.

"Wait, Barrow was an electrical engineer." Stiles says slowly. "He worked at a power sub-station."

"What sub-station?" Scott demands.

Stiles makes a noise of exasperation and pulls out his phone, speed-dialing someone. "Hold on. Yeah, hey Dad? Can you tell me what sub-station Barrow used to work at? Uh, just trying to piece some things together. Okay, great. Oh, and you might want to send a few squad cars there because Barrow kidnapped Kira and we're going to stop him from killing her." He says this last bit really fast and winces as the loud, unmistakably angry voice of the Sheriff comes blaring through the little speakers. _"What do you mean you're-" _Stiles hangs up and looks at us sheepishly. "The one on Pontiac and Garden. We should probably–"

Scott throws on his helmet, swings a leg over his bike and zooms off down the street.

"-come up with some sort of plan."

LM

We catch up with Scott near the power station, having broken practically every traffic law in the state to get there. Stiles stops so abruptly outside the station that I nearly slam into the dash. I'm still working on my seatbelt as Stiles grabs an aluminum bat from the backseat and jumps out of the car.

"Wait here, alright, just wait for the cops to come." He tells me.

I paused in my unbuckling and frown. "Me? Wait, why?" I ask in confusion, completely prepared to throttle him if he says anything remotely sexist.

"Well I only got one bat," he explains, which admittedly isn't sexist – just stupid. I do end up staying in the car because if things go south in there, Scott will be better off only having to worry about keeping two humans safe rather than three.

I drum my fingers against the open window frame and I wonder why, exactly, Barrow took Kira. She's not a werewolf: Scott and Isaac would have sniffed her out immediately that day she talked to us at lunch. So what is she? Just an innocent girl? Or maybe some other kind of creature with glowing eyes. Maybe – maybe we'd jumped the gun in our assumption that Barrow was after werewolves. I send Allison a quick text about looking for references to glowing eyes, making sure to include the archaic Latin terms in my message.

The other thing that's bothering me is the writing on the board. I initially thought Barrow was going after kids with glowing eyes because he'd snapped mentally from shock of discovering the supernatural world (something that hits a little too close to home for me). But unless he wrote that message himself – which I highly doubt – that means he's working with someone. Someone who'd probably helped him escape, unlocked the chemistry closet and left a coded message. Someone smart and _dangerous_ and probably far more mentally capable than Barrow himself.

Which is just what we need, of course. A new threat. Just when I thought things were getting better.

As if on cue, there's a hum and all the lights go out.

It takes me a moment to process this. The buzzing of electricity in the air, which has been near-constant since we pulled up, is gone. It's quiet. Except – except.

Someone is screaming.

It sounds like a girl, though the voice is unfamiliar. It's long and drawn-out and horribly high-pitched, like no human scream I've ever heard.

"Stiles! Scott!" I scream back, jumping out of the car and flying toward the power station, not caring that I'm unarmed. Something bad has just happened, something terrible, awful, horrible and death is right around the corner, Lydia, you need to know the whole story, this has all happened before, she's going to die, he's going to die they're all going to die –

"Lydia?" My breath catches in my throat as I see Stiles and Scott come out of the station, Kira in tow. Scott looks a little worse for wear and is limping a bit, but they're all essentially unharmed.

"Oh thank god." I stop in my tracks. I want to keep going and rush straight into the pair of them, just to ensure that they're there and real and alive. Kira's there, though, and I think that level of affection might alarm Scott anyway so I just look between them, checking for any horrible, life-threatening injuries. "What happened? Are you guys okay? Where's Barrow?"

Kira opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it, her eyes wide and confused.

"He's dead." Scott answers grimly. "He tried to electrocute Kira and it backfired. That's what made the power go out.

I gape at him. "_Backfired_? How-"

"It's not important right now," Scott interrupts, sending me an _I'll tell you later _look. "Right now we need to get our stories straight before the cops get here," he says, literally just as the cops arrive. He winces. "Shit."

"Oh, it gets better." Stiles nods toward the man running from the nearest SUV. I squint and think I vaguely recognize him from somewhere.

"Scott?" The man yells, looking angry and concerned. "What happened? Is everyone alright?"

Scott lets out a frustrated groan and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. "We're fine." He calls back, with more resentment in his tone than I've heard from him in a long time. It's then that I notice the man is dressed in a normal suit rather than the Sheriff's department uniform. He's not a civilian though. I can see the badge hanging form around his neck and –

Oh.

I know where I've seen him before. At school, after Stiles and I figured out Ms. Blake was keeping the guardians at the Nematon, he'd intercepted us in the hallway to ask Stiles some questions, probably about his missing dad. Stiles had been surprisingly antagonistic and now I realize why: this is Agent McCall, Scott's dad who left his family several years ago and only recently showed up again to stick his nose in Scott's life. I know very little about him, and the few details I am privy to don't exactly paint him to be father of the year.

Agent McCall steps in front of our little group. "Where' Barrow?"

"Inside." Scott answers shortly. "He electrocuted himself trying to electrocute Kira."

"Is he-"

"Dead. Yeah."

Agent McCall lets out a sigh and signals to the deputies behind him. "Go in there and locate Barrow's body. Don't touch anything unless it's absolutely necessary." They nod and more forward, though I catch one of them roll his eyes behind McCall's back. Apparently Agent McCall is about as welcome in the Sheriff station as he is in his home. "You know, this is the second crime scene I've found you at in the last few weeks," he addresses Scott. "Not to mention that little stunt your friend pulled with the smoke bomb when we attempted to question you guys at her apartment."

"Ambushed." Scott corrects. "When you _ambushed _us at her apartment. Which was a great way to see you for the first time after three years by the way, thanks Dad."

"What's going on?" The Sheriff mercifully appears before Scott and his Dad can get into a shouting match. "Why are you questioning these kids out here, it's practically freezing out here and they're not exactly dressed for the weather," he says, eying my skirt and Stiles's t-shirt. "We should take them back to the station and talk to them there." He shoots us all significant looks behind Agent McCall's back and I realize he's attempting to give us time to come up with some clever lies.

Agent McCall scowls. "Fine. We'll drive you to the station."

"The station's literally on the way to my house." Stiles interjects. "Can't I just drive there myself?"

"Fine. But the rest of you-"

"I don't want to leave my bike here for someone to steal." Adds Scott.

"_Fine_!" Growls Agent McCall. "Lydia and Kira, you'll ride with me." Kira glances at me nervously and I just give Agent McCall my best intimidation stare, wondering how the hell he knows my name.

"I don't see why they can't ride in the Jeep, there's more than enough room-"

"Because I wasn't born yesterday, Stiles. Now come on." He looks scornfully at the Sheriff. "Can I trust you not to bungle this investigation up, Stilinski?"

I decide then and there that I'm on board the "We hate Scott's Dad" train. The Sheriff saved my life a month ago and is among the very small group of adults I actually hold in high regard (which also includes Melissa McCall, Chris Argent and Deaton on select days). I do my best to concentrate all the loathing I feel at the moment into a single glare. Scott makes a noise of outrage in the back of his throat, Kira's eyes widen in disbelief and Stiles's entire body jerks like he's restraining himself from punching Agent McCall in the face.

The Sheriff just gives a wry smile. "Actually, I think Ramirez can handle things here." He indicates the deputy next to him who has been awkwardly watching this whole interchange. "I think I ought to be there for the questioning. After all, eyewitnesses _are _such an important part of an investigation." He directs a small smile at me and I smile back, understanding this is his way of apologizing to me for not listening earlier. "Besides, they're all minors and if they choose not to speak without a parent or guardian present they don't have to. If I'm there we can get some answers out of Stiles at the very least."

Agent McCall rolls his eyes. "And Scott."

"Actually no." Scott disputes immediately. "You're not my legal guardian. You have no legal authority over me and I choose to remain silent unless the Sheriff is there."

Burn. A million times burn. Stiles hides a laugh behind a cough and a brief, flattered smile breaks out on the Sheriff's face before he masks it.

Surrounded and behind enemy lines, McCall throws up his hands. "Fine! Fine!" He spits out the word likes it's quickly becoming his least favorite in the entire human language, before stalking back to SUV.

Kira glances at me again and I give her an encouraging smile as we follow. Scott nods at the Sheriff when he passes and Stiles attempts to just pat his Dad on the shoulder, only to be pulled into a short but tight hug. I see Agent McCall look back at the pair before glancing quickly at Scott who has his back turned. For the tinniest of moments I feel sorry for him.

As I slide into the car I pull out my phone and send a quick text.

_Hey Dad. Dinner next week Friday at Carlyle's? _

He responds less than a minute later.

_Sounds great! Love you._

I glance up at the back of Agent McCall's head. No, I don't feel sorry for him at all.

* * *

At the Sheriff's station, Agent McCall's attempt to question all of us quickly denigrates into a game of seeing who can confuse and piss him off the most.

"So when did you get there?" He asks, staring down the four of us.

"At the same time." Stiles replies placidly.

Agent McCall's brow wrinkles in confusion. "At the same time as who?"

"At the same time as me." Scott supplies.

"By coincidence?"

Stiles leans back on the coach. "What do you mean coincidence?" He asks shrewdly like he's the one conducting the investigation.

"That's what I'm asking you," Agent McCall isn't having it. "The two of you arrived at the same time. Was that coincidence?"

Scott fixes a concerned expression on his face. "Are you asking me?"

"I think he's asking me." Stiles sidebars to Scott.

The opportunity is too golden. "I think he's asking both of you." I say with a remarkably straight face.

"Okay, let me answer the questions." Agent McCall cuts in sounding frustrated. Stiles and Scott look delighted. I believe I've just won the game. "Let me _ask _the questions," He corrects. "Just so I have this absolutely clear. Barrow was hiding in the chemistry closet at the school. Someone left him a coded message on the blackboard telling him to kill Kira. Ten Barrow took Kira to a power sub-station and tied her up with the intent of electrocuting her…which blacked out the entire town," he finishes flatly.

The four of us look at each and nod like everything Agent McCall has said made perfect sense and we don't understand why he's struggling to accept the story. "Sounds about right." Stiles confirms.

"How did you know he'd take her to a power station?" Agent McCall finally asks the one question I've been dreading and I struggle to keep my face a blank, bored mask.

"Well, 'cause he was an electrical engineer." Stiles obfuscates. "So where else would he take her?" His voice kind of trails off at the end.

Agent McCall smirks incredulously. "That's one hell of a deduction there, Stiles." He sneers.

"Yeah, what can I say?" Stiles shoots back instantly. "I take after my pops, he's in law enforcement." He winks at the Sheriff who has been sitting behind Agent McCall trying to hide his snickers throughout this whole interrogation. He's not quite successful this time and has to turn his snort into a cough when Agent McCall turns around to look at him.

"Stiles, just, uh, just answer the man."

Stiles sighs. "We made a good guess."

Agent McCall looks unconvinced but turns his attention to Scott and Kira. "What were the two of you doing?"

"Eating pizza" Scott says at the same time Kira replies, "Eating sushi." They look at each other, panicked. "Eating sushi," Scott amends just as Kira adds, "Eating pizza." Then they both take a deep breath and say together: "Eating sushi and pizza."

Agent McCall shakes his head and turns around to address the Sheriff. "You believe this?"

The Sheriff waves a hand. "To be honest, I haven't believed a word Stiles has said since he learned how to speak." Stiles looks mildly offended at this, but I'm sure even he knows this is true. "But I think these kids found themselves in the right place at the right time and that girl sitting there is very lucky for it."

"Kira is that how you remember it?" Agent McCall suddenly asks, probably sensing that she's the only one of us who's never lied to the authorities before and is therefore the weakest link.

We all sort of lean forward and look at Kira significantly. If she was planning on disputing our story, she folds under peer-pressure and says, "Yes." Then she adds hesitantly, "Could I get my phone back now?"

"Sorry but no." Agent McCall refuses because he is old and doesn't understand how vital a phone is to a teenager's livelihood. I just thank God _my _phone wasn't impounded for evidence. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at us like he _knows _we're a bunch of little liars and he wants to throw us all into a jail cell for the night to teach us respect for authority. "You're all free to go," he tells us, dragging each word out like they physically pain him.

The smile I give him is sweet enough to eat the varnish off his desk.

* * *

Stiles drives me home and fills me in on the real story of what happened at the power station. Apparently Barrow _had _actually managed to electrocute Kira, except not only was there a massive kickback that killed Barrow instantly, but she'd actually managed to suck all of the power into her body "like Storm from X-Men." I probably should be more shocked about this than I am. All I can feel is relief, though – relief and a giddy sense of pride.

I slip past my mom's closed bedroom door and shrug off my heels inside my room, landing face-down on my bed. I'm completely, totally exhausted after the day I've just had, but I can't sleep. I've got electricity of my own buzzing under my skin, and though I might not be a superhero from some geeky comic book…I'm _something_. And today, _something _didn't mean wandering through the woods naked, or screaming my head off like a lunatic, or stumbling onto a dead body beside a pool.

Today, _something _meant saving someone's life.

Today, _something _meant being a _hero_.

* * *

A/N: So yeah, kind of a crappy ending. I wanted it to lead into the next day when Lydia tells Aiden she doesn't want to be with the bad guys, but that was too much effort so I just ended it and implied where her line of thinking was.

Leave a review if you liked it!


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